


Fool For You

by arktheshark, XOs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Class Differences, Class Issues, Classicism, Competition, Competitive, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Financial Issues, Head Girl Hermione Granger, High School, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Money, Ordinaries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Romance, School, Seventh Years, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Wealth, Wealth-Based Society, elites, elitism, money problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23898658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arktheshark/pseuds/arktheshark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/XOs/pseuds/XOs
Summary: Power, connections and success: the Elites have it all. When Hermione Granger is denied the position of Class President- a position she needs for university- her place in society as an Ordinary is tragically defined. It does not help that the position was granted to her academic rival and childhood bully, Draco Malfoy. The two must work together if they wish to keep their positions, with rising expectations from Draco's family and Hermione's need to break the belief that she is "ordinary". However, a party and a debt bring about terrible circumstances for both Hermione and Draco. The two are forced to take drastic measures, but how far will they go?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is my first time writing a Dramione fic, but I've absolutely adored this ship for so long! Luckily, Clay was there to push me to finally posting a fic on this work and the pair of us have been brainstorming this one and it's been so much fun! She threw out loads of ideas towards me and this one really stuck and resonated with me and we've both been working on it since!
> 
> Clay though up the idea from listening to the song _idfc_ by blackbear- she's very creative like that! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and we're both very excited to see where this fic brings us!

**At a young age, Hermione learnt that life wasn’t fair. She had been holding her mother’s** hand tightly, trailing along on a shopping trip she had initially complained to be on. Nothing had interested Hermione about buying clothes and shoes, but when she’d seen a beautiful dollhouse in the window of a shop, she had immediately begun to pull at her mum’s hand and pointed excitedly towards the toy. She had chattered about how much she wanted it. Granted, her mum did wander closer, looking closely at the price. That was the first divide. If a family had to look at the price of items they purchased, they were not the wealthy elite. Of course, Hermione was only young and didn’t realise this, which was why she was so gutted when her mum tugged her away, telling her she couldn’t have the dollhouse. She had fussed and cried about it, but Hermione hadn’t known the price tag on the beautiful piece exceeded £100. That was the second divide; the inability to afford anything and everything.

These were facts that Hermione would be forced to settle with for many years to come. The elites would always have an advantage over everyone else and their authority wasn’t to be questioned. Whilst she had stubbornly put a foot down and convinced herself that money wasn’t everything, these two divides would always reappear throughout her life to haunt and remind her that her life would never be considered “elite”. She was always viewed as quite ordinary, regardless of her incredible intellect and fierce ability to stand up for herself. As far as the world was concerned, she was nobody unless she had a vast amount of wealth behind her name.

And that was why she was sat in class after hours, furiously tapping her foot against the ground and trying not to look anyone in the eye. She was frustrated and trying her best not to cry, not because she had been upset or anything, but because she was angry. Out of the twenty-five kids in their form, she had received fourteen of the votes. That was almost three-fifths of the class, with eight votes going to Draco and three to Harry. This vote had happened yesterday and she’d proudly rushed home to tell her parents she was going to be the Class Rep. Now her feelings had been upended, because “it would be better if an elite member of society was the Class Rep.”

She almost ground her teeth at that. Just because he’d eaten from a silver spoon his entire life, didn’t mean Draco had to be awarded Class Rep. It made no sense to her.

“Do you understand, Miss Granger?” their homeroom teacher laid his pen down. “Of course, you’ll make a wonderful Vice-Rep and that’s still an honorary title for the average person.”

“I understand.” She fucking didn’t.

“Very good,” Mr Slughorn looked pleased. “I’ve always trusted in your maturity, Hermione.”

It was now ‘Hermione’ once he was certain she wasn’t visibly angry.

Moreover, being mature had nothing to do with the fact that she had no authority.

“In that case, I shall tell the class tomorrow that you stepped down from Class Rep to become Vice-Rep for…” he lifted his pen and hesitated. “For _personal_ reasons. How about that?”

It was a load of bullshit. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

“Very good, very good,” Mr Slughorn wrote this down. “I’m so glad we managed to have this all agreed on.”

‘Agreed on’ was very far from Hermione’s definition of what had just happened. Passive coercion seemed far more accurate, particularly as the Vice-Rep just-turned Class Rep was seated right beside her. She didn’t dare look in his direction, but she already knew his sharp, icy features were upturned into a smirk. She still had some shred of pride left, despite having turned up to face the music. She knew she would never forgive Mr Slughorn for this, despite achieving well in his classes and always being polite towards him. Hermione wanted to cry, but she had to hold all of this back until she was back home, or somewhere private.

“Seeing as this has all been settled so smoothly, you two are free to go home!” Slughorn leant back in his seat and laced his fingers together, looking pleased with himself. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Hermione was the first to scrape her chair back. Normally, she would offer a quick pleasantry before leaving, but her heart really wasn’t in it. She had to ignore the slight glimmer of sadness that flashed across her teacher’s eyes, but she couldn’t dwell on kindness when her heart felt like a total wreck. She scooped her bag up from the ground and slung it over her shoulder, feeling her cheeks redden with suppressed emotions. A part of her was now wishing she hadn’t told Ron and Harry to leave without her, but she had never expected it to be a meeting about an unfair reversal of democracy. She tried her best not to stamp her feet, to not let it show just how angry she was, but her loud steps on the shiny tile floors were difficult to conceal.

As she opened her locker, hands curling and uncurling, she began an ungraceful and forceful exchange between which books she needed. It was satisfying to slam heavy textbooks in the metal box, listening to wobble and shake underneath the force. Why throwing her books around made her feel better, Hermione couldn’t explain, but her ebbing mood didn’t last long when quiet footsteps approached, and Draco Malfoy peered over her door. He was stood on tiptoes and Hermione was more than tempted to clip his chin with the door as she closed it, but that was too petty, even for her. With a heavy sigh, she let him move away before she closed the door.

“That was quite the exit, Granger,” he looked as smug as she’d imagined he would. “Reminded me very much of a tantrum.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” she jammed her key in the lock and turned it with a rough clinking and clicking. “I can’t deal with your bullshit today.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear,” he remarked. “Special day.”

She inhaled sharply through her nose, closing her eyes as she repeatedly told herself not to go on the offensive. Hermione wanted to remain as civil as possible, no matter how difficult he was making that. She had undergone years and years of this petty nit-picking she and Draco shared. Jabs that ranged from unfriendly to meagre comments, something she had learnt to brush off for many years now. Today didn’t have to be any different.

“I don’t need this right now,” she sent him an even stare. “I can entertain your trivial need for sharp remarks tomorrow, but not today.”

He inspected his fingernails. “Not only do I win the battle, I also win this argument, then?”

Normally, she would have to hold Ron back, which often calmed her own mood. This time, however, it was only her and Draco standing in the hallway. She felt the colour of rage rising to her neck and cheeks again, her ears burning with a sudden and uncontrollable urge to raise her defences and ward off his siege.

“You didn’t _win_ anything, Malfoy,” she spat out before she could stop herself. “You were _given_ a trophy, just another to add to the collection of things you’ve been fed from your silver platter.”

The slightest colour of pink rose to his cheeks. “That’s not fair-”

“You can’t talk about what _is_ and what _isn’t_ fair,” it was hard to fight away tears of frustration, but Hermione kept blinking them back. “I worked so hard on my speech, on my grades, and Class President was something that I really wanted- _needed_ \- for my personal statement. All you did was waltz in there, receive votes from your friends, and then threw a hissy fit because you didn’t get first place. What isn’t fair is that you took the place I deserved, and I can guarantee that most of the class would agree with me.”

His jaw had gone tense throughout her speech, but he hadn’t interrupted her. Draco wouldn’t even look at her, appearing sullen under the white lights.

“I hope you’re happy with yourself,” she raised her chin high, even though he stood a full head above her. “Because this is definitely the cheapest you’ve gone to get a victory.”

“Maybe you should know your place, Peasant.”

Peasant. It was a derogatory name for Ordinaries, the people who made up the majority of the population. Wealth amongst the Ordinaries ranged drastically, from an upper middle-class to those suffering in extreme poverty. The last time Draco had called her a Peasant, she had crushed his nose with her fist, but Hermione steeled herself. Her heart was hammering in her chest and it was becoming nearly impossible not to cry. Not only had she lost a position that would greatly help her get into university (because who _really_ cared about the Vice President?) and now she was being insulted. Hermione breathed in deeply, clutching the straps of her rucksack that she now had balanced on her shoulders, heavy with textbooks. She did the only rational thing that wouldn’t have her sat in the headmaster’s office with her parents begging the Malfoy parents to forgive their family.

Hermione walked away.

Her movements felt stiff and forced. As much as she wanted to stay and continue arguing with Draco, she knew it was going to get her nowhere. It would just dissolve into a screaming match of insults and attacking Draco would only give her the horrible “Savage” nickname that had plagued her throughout the end of primary school.

“Walk away, then,” he called after her. “Real mature.”

Fortunately, he made no attempt to follow her. Hermione was exhausted and not in the mood for a fight, even if it was just a verbal one. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so open about insulting Draco, but she had already said it. All she could do was hope that he wouldn’t report her or speak to his parents. She didn’t want to put her parents through the trauma of having the Malfoy family threaten them if she harmed their son again. An Elite would always have the upper hand over an Ordinary. That was a fact of life.

And it really wasn’t fair.

The moment she stepped outside, the wind seemed to slap her across the face, a startling sensation that seemed to remind her brain that her body was very much alive. Emotional pain spread through her chest and the lump in her throat was too big to swallow. She rubbed at her eyes, sniffling and smearing away as many tears as she possibly could. She was glad that it was a little later, four-thirty, which meant people leaving at normal time were gone but sports and other after school clubs had yet to finish. No one was there to see Hermione Granger cry, which was just how she preferred it. The school saw her as infallible, the Head Girl who always wore a smile and offered helpful advice to those who asked. The wind seemed to dry any tears from her face as she crunched past fallen red, brown, orange, and gold leaves, crumpled on the pathway now that the trees had begun discarding them for the winter. It was a crisp afternoon, daytime still dominating the days and a blue sky overhead with a few wispy clouds and the sun beginning to grow lower above the horizon. A perfectly beautiful day, and yet she was leaving school, a place she liked, feeling like garbage.

Hermione stopped dead when she saw a car lingering in the carpark. The black Chevy Corvette was parked near the pathway, paintjob shining, and wheels pumped to perfection. Normally, she would feel a wave of relief wash over her as this very same car picked her up on Friday, when she was needed in school earlier for Head Boy, Head Girl and Prefect meetings, but today she felt only dread as she tried to hide her tears. It was too late, though. Harry was already getting out of the car, mouth twisted into a concerned frown as he pushed back his mop of unruly dark hair out of his face despite the wind.

She tried one last attempt to mop up the mess that her face had become, but she knew Harry had already seen the tear tracks glistening down her cheeks. Hermione tried not to make it a habit to cry in front of her friends, but Harry was the one she could trust to stand by her and offer proper comfort on the rare occasions she was to do so. Ron, on the other hand, had a habit of shuffling from foot to foot, awkwardly offering jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“What happened?” Harry gathered her in his arms, and it was only then that Hermione let herself properly cry. “Let’s go get tea.”

She didn’t bother arguing with him. Once Harry knew either of his friends was upset, there was no way of telling him to do otherwise. Hermione let him bundle her towards the car, sitting in the passenger seat with the warmer turned up and happy tunes on the radio.

“Why are you still here?” she sniffed.

“What, when you and _Malfoy_ were asked to stay late?” Harry quirked a smile. “That could only have ended in disaster.”

A breathless laugh escaped her mouth and she leant back in the seat, pulling the seatbelt around her. “You know me too well.”

“Wanna tell me what happened now, or during tea?” he asked.

“Tea,” she croaked, using the visor mirror to dab away at her tears.

There was a small high street near their school, which was where Harry drove to. Normally, Elites wouldn’t be seen dead in an area such as this, but Harry was very different. He had been raised as an Ordinary, mistreated by the aunt and uncle who were supposed to keep him safe after the untimely deaths of his parents in a car accident. There had been a scandal in the newspaper that his uncle had been trying to find a way to secure Harry’s fortune whilst acting as his legal guardian, but that a family friend, Rubeus Hagrid, also the groundskeeper of Hogwarts Academy, had discovered this and intercepted before things were too late. Despite only being eleven, Harry was an Elite, which meant he had full control over his own fortune and the house left behind. Within a single moment, he had gone from being completely Ordinary, to one of the richest Elites known and he was able to enrol at Hogwarts. His modesty and selflessness never surprised Hermione, although she had been astonished to learn he was the Elite Harry Potter when they had first met. She considered him to be one of her closest friends, and he was often the first to notice when something wasn’t right with her.

That was why he brought her to Costa.

“You always remember,” she shook her head.

“Starbucks for coffee, Costa for tea,” he said it like a chant. “I only want the best for you.”

He ruffled her hair like an affectionate brother. Hermione’s hair was already bushy as it was and the wind had tangled it to an ungodly mess that she would have to deal with later, so she let him off the hook this time. The two students entered the café and chose a seat that was tucked away in the corner. The smell of coffee flooded Hermione’s senses, but she much preferred Costa’s tea over their coffee, whence Harry’s saying. It was warm in here, too. She shed her coat and scarf, and although she insisted that she could handle her own expenses, Harry promptly decided that it was only right that someone tearful shouldn’t pay for tea. She couldn’t argue with that, mostly out of embarrassment. When Harry returned, he plopped their serving number on the table, waiting for a pot of tea for two.

“Tell me what happened,” he leant back in the cushioned seat and folded his arms.

With a deep sigh, Hermione bent her head down, resting her chin in her hands, and woefully recounted the sordid affair to Harry. The more she spoke, the more anger she saw flash in his emerald eyes, thick brows drawing together and the firmness with which he would place his cup down. Harry already had a tense rivalry with Draco, which Seamus Finnigan had only worsened by starting a trend that the two were “dating” back in Year Ten. The rumour had never truly vanished; Hermione believed its only purpose in the present day was to fuel any hatred between Harry and Draco.

“That’s all bullshit,” Harry shook his head. “I’ll talk to Slughorn _and_ Dumbledore. Malfoy’s parading around with your title.”

“Please, don’t,” Hermione sighed into her tea. “I don’t think I could handle the stress and hassle. My parents have already had enough run-ins with the Malfoys.”

“I don’t like that they’re walking all over you like this,” he didn’t look impressed.

“Me neither, but what can I do?” Hermione worried at her lip.

“Let me handle it,” his eyes were full of sincerity- he would give up a lot to help her.

“I can’t do that,” she flinched when she saw the plain confusion in his eyes. “I know you don’t think they’ll have repercussions, but the Malfoys could ruin my parents. They could probably have me expelled from Hogwarts.”

“Dumbledore wouldn’t allow that,” Harry pointed out.

“Dumbledore doesn’t control the Board of Governors, Harry,” Hermione gave him a pointed stare. “And Lucius Malfoy is a Governor of this school and has _lots_ of money, alongside Dolores Umbridge, who hates Ordinaries, and Cornelius Fudge, who can be bullied into agreeing to anything so long as the Elites are appeased.”

“Fine, but only because you don’t want me to.”

Hermione could see disappointment and perhaps a little hurt flicker across his features, so she reached across the table and took his hand.

“I appreciate your offer, though,” she reassured him. “Vice President is still a really good position to have and it’ll be worth putting it on my personal statement and CV.”

“What if I threatened Malfoy?” Harry checked one last time.

Hermione chuckled. “While I find that to be very charming, I can’t help but think he’ll run home and appeal to his parents.”

“Fine, I won’t say anything,” the smile lessened as he schooled his features. “Our main concern is Ronald.”

“Yeah,” she breathed out a sigh. “Crap.”

“I would suggest we not tell him, but it’ll be quite obvious when Malfoy parades around tomorrow as Class President,” Harry pondered. “I think it’s safe to say Ron won’t be happy at all.”

“Of course, he won’t,” Hermione wove her fingers through her hair. “I’ll tell him tomorrow morning. He arrives late, anyway.”

“He arrives with me.”

“You _both_ arrive late.”

* * *

He sat in his car for a lot longer than he needed to. He had parked near the front door, something his father told him not to do, but he hadn’t mustered the willpower to get out and let himself in. Draco couldn’t face his parents after what had happened today. He had been shouted at and insulted by a Peasant who just so happened to be that awful Granger. His jaw kept tightening as he recalled the words she had slung towards him, behaving as if her place in society was far higher than it truly was. He would slam his silver platter in her face if people wouldn’t judge him for hitting a girl, but Granger was hardly a girl. ‘Creature’ or ‘thing’ described her better. He kept thinking about her face upturned towards him, eyes rimmed slightly red and, if he didn’t know better- and perhaps he didn’t-, then he was nearly sure she was tearful.

Draco didn’t like to think so, but it had bothered him. She’d clearly cared deeply about the position, more so than he did. Although it hadn’t been his decision, he had forcefully taken the position from her under the instruction of his parents. That was the main reason why he was now so reluctant to face them. He knew his father would be able to detect a hint of guilt or melancholy from him when he ought to be celebrating, and Draco would get in trouble for that. They were supposed to be a proud Elite family, unhindered and unsympathetic towards all of those beneath them in status. Not everyone was worthy of their attention and Draco had spent far too much of his school life competing academically with Granger, a set-back that had put her already in his father’s bad books. 

Whilst Draco himself didn’t particularly like Granger, she was right. What had happened _wasn’t_ fair and it certainly hadn’t been the kind of victory he wanted. Draco had always envisioned that his rivalry with Granger would remain clean, but his father had stuck his foot in and ruined it. Draco liked having an academic rival, but with his father cheating on his behalf, he worried Granger would lose interest in competing with someone who could just reverse the results. Governess Umbridge had immediately passed the notion that he ought to be Class President instead of Granger. She hated Peasants just as much as his father did and was more than happy to try and erase Granger from as much of Hogwarts’ history as she could manage. She had even tried to interject Granger becoming Head Girl, but the old coot Dumbledore had sternly put his foot down, insisting that both Head students were selected by the faculty _within_ Hogwarts. Governor Fudge was gutless. He followed power and influence, both of which Draco’s father had. He was essentially as Yes Man, which had made it very easy to convince a overruling of Granger as Class President. As for the position of Head Boy, Draco had been reprimanded for losing, but Theo was also an Elite and had as much right to be Head Boy as anyone else. 

That loss sat less sorely on Draco’s tongue than this victory did, because at least Draco could say he had deserved losing against Theo. He had _not_ deserved winning against Granger, since she had beaten him by three points, her eleven against his eight, and Potter had scrabbled for the last four votes. Whatever way he looked at it, Draco would have Potter’s votes if they had to choose between her and Draco. Without cheating, he had lost from all angles and yet his father’s influence had ensured he’d won. How was he supposed to face his father with a straight face when he was feeling this wave of emotions swirling around his chest? He pushed open the door because there was no point on dwelling it for much longer. It was time to face the music, slamming the car door shut behind him and locking it over his shoulder. He had a house key, too, which he used after climbing the stairs. Still, he paused to take a long, much-needed breath before he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

“Home,” he called out.

“Good evening, Draco,” their butler, Yaxley, approached and lifted his school blazer from his shoulders. “How was your day?”

“Standard,” Draco rolled his shoulders back irritably. “Where are Father and Mother?”

“Enjoying tea in the west-wing sitting room,” Yaxley replied. “The tea is fresh. Mr Malfoy did tell me he wished to speak with you.”

Draco knew this was going to be a fiasco. “Very well, then.”

He stalked away from the butler, his feet carrying to the west side of the house. Days would be getting shorter within a month, and darker, but for now the orange beam of the setting five o’clock sun streaking across the walls, even turning Draco’s bleached hair orange and gold. It was almost blinding, but it was where the natural daylight sat and that was what his parents liked. They would enjoy tea until six, where red wine was opened and enjoyed. When he was outside of the sitting room he took another deep breath before entering, plastering a pleasant smile on his face.

“Draco,” his mother held a hand out towards him, so he took it and leant down to let her kiss his cheek. “Sit with us.”

Draco sat beside his mother. He never sat next to his father, who was currently resting a glacier grey stare on him.

“How was your day, Draco?” his mother rested a gentle hand on his head, always treating him like the little boy he once was.

“Adequate,” he raised a cup which she poured for him.

“And?” his father prompted, leaning forwards. “What of the Peasant girl?”

“I’m Class President from now on,” Draco leant back into the sofa. 

“Excellent,” his father relaxed. “I was hoping I wouldn’t be required to step in for you once more. I like to believe you’re at least competent enough to deal with your own affairs now.”

“Yes, Father,” Draco sipped his tea.

“I refuse to have any Malfoy stand at a _lower_ position than a Peasant such as that,” his father’s nose wrinkled in sheer disgust. “It was already disappointing enough that you failed to become Head Boy, but to leave Hogwarts with no achievements would be a mortification to our family name.”

“I understand, Father.”

“Indeed, I worried you wouldn’t have much to show for yourself, Draco, but at least now you have something,” his father sent him a long stare. “The first Malfoy who is not elected Class President or Head Boy. It’s hard to say I’m proud of you, even now, when I’ve had to pull yet more strings for you.”

“Yes, Father,” Draco stiffened his jaw.

“Every time I have to step in on your behalf, I can’t help but feel how disgraced our family ought to feel in front of the other Governors,” his father continued. “Thicknesse and Fudge are easy to sway and Bartemius Crouch will always follow the popular vote, but Bones and Prickle are far more resistant to anything I suggest. And _every time_ I have to lay myself down for you, the conniving sneer of Umbridge is always hovering in the corner, even though I know she’ll _always_ pick an Elite over an Ordinary.”

“And _thank you_ , Father,” Draco put down his cup, barely touched. “I do appreciate it. Unfortunately, I have work I need to get done. I will see you both for dinner.”

He didn’t wait for a reply that time. Draco rose from his seat and stalked out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like me, you can follow me on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/XOs08115695 ! I've also recently started a Tumblr, which I will also use for updates on fics I write, including this one. You can find it here: https://the-xs-and-the-os.tumblr.com/ !
> 
> You can find the wonderful Clay here on Twitter: https://twitter.com/clazyxlove ! She is an absolute sweetie!!
> 
> Thank you for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, fellow dramione lovers. I am _so_ sorry this is late 0-0 I honestly have no idea why, either, since Clay proofread this ages ago. Anyway, this chapter was super fun to write so I hope you enjoy!

**She didn’t want to go into school that day. There was too much to face; Ron’s anger, Draco’s smugness.** She could only hope Harry was diffusing the situation on the drive to school. It had already been a hassle enough to sit her parents down and tell them the awful news. Her mother had sat, silently stewing at the table, knowing there was nothing they could do to reverse what had already been done. She had nervously pulled at her nails, as if recalling the tense conversation in Headmaster Dumbledore’s office with Lucius Malfoy threatening a lawsuit, an argument that had only been soothed by Dumbledore insisting an apology from Hermione was suitable enough. As for her father, Hermione and her mum had had to sit him down and calm him down once he’d raged about the injustice of this. Although he knew how dangerous it was to stand against an Elite, he had almost grown tearful at the thought that his daughter’s future had been threatened by a privileged Elite boy. Only her promises that she would earn top grades and that her position as Head Girl would project her further soothed his anger and sadness, and he promised not to say anything to the school, an argument they would never win. There had been emotions running that night, but they had gone to bed worn out from crying and ranting about the Malfoys and all three Grangers had promised to support each other in whatever came next.

As for Ron, he was far more of a wild card. Ron _hated_ Draco. The two of them had engaged in a punch-up both in Year Seven and at the Year Eleven prom, when Seamus had snuck vodka into the punch and Ron had picked a fight with Malfoy. The three of them had had a sleepover at Harry’s that night and Ron had spent most of it being sick in the toilet. Would he be that level of angry today when he found out? Hermione could only wonder as she shouldered her bag and began the fifteen minute walk to school. Since her parents both worked as dentists, they had to be at the clinic before opening at eight-thirty in the morning, so they often had to leave at quarter-past seven in order to make it in time. Since Hermione didn’t leave until half-past, she often ended up walking. Friday was cool and crisp, which dried the nervous sweat that spread across her body as she neared the school gates. It appeared that Harry had geared Ron and Ginny up specially today, since the Chevy was parked and waiting, the three of them standing outside it. Harry was talking in a low voice whilst Ron furiously chomped on a cereal bar and Ginny was glued to her phone. She steeled herself and approached, plastering a smile on her face.

“Morning, boys,” she breathed out nervously, scanning the car park but Draco was nowhere in sight. “And Ginny.”

“You can’t let him do this to you,” Ron said, mouth full of Kelloggs. “I’ll show him a piece or two.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Ron, but Harry’s already offered,” she patted his shoulder as she neared. “And I already said ‘no’. This is something I have to suck up to.”

“We didn’t vote Malfoy for Class Prez,” Ron argued whilst crunching. “This is like-” He swallowed. “This is like Hitler pushing Ebert out of the Weimar Republic.”

“I’m shocked that you’ve retained such specific information,” Hermione managed a smile. “But it’s not quite like that. Not even close, really. The point is, I’m still Vice President and that’s fine with me.”

Ron wrinkled his nose. “I’ll deck him when I see his stupid bloody face.”

“You’re a lot more sedate than I expected,” she remarked as they walked through the gates.

“I bloody wasn’t earlier,” Ron said. “I get in the car and the first thing Harry tells me is this crap. I went off on him. Draco, not Harry. Absolute wildman, I was. Tell her, Harry.”

“He was mental,” Harry bobbed his head.

“You two are just showing off,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Hermione, don’t let that awful Malfoy bully you. Just because you’re Vice President doesn’t mean you can’t pull all the strings.”

She let herself smile properly. “Thanks, Ginny.”

“No problem,” Ginny paused before her classroom. “I’ll see you all later.”

“Only ‘cause we have to,” Ron muttered under his breath as they left her behind.

Hermione could only shake her head, but a smile remained on her lips. She couldn’t stay mad at either of them because they both meant well. She knew Ron would have to be calmed once more when he saw Draco in person, but for now he was jovial once more. The three of them took their seats in class, closer to the front. It was hard to think that less than twenty-four hours ago, Hermione had sat in this very same room and been downgraded for having less money.

“I’m going to have lay down some ground rules,” Hermione turned to the boys. “Ron, _don’t_ sit on your table.” He shifted off with a grumble. “Please don’t confront Draco about this. He’ll know I’ve been complaining about him and I was already quite rude to him yesterday.”

“What did you say to him?” Ron’s eyes widened.

She wrapped a strand of hair around her finger. “Something about a silver platter. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that’s-”

“Wow, Hermione, there’s the fire coming back,” Ron cackled.

“ _The only thing_ that’s important right now is that I’m trying my best to keep the peace,” she said pointedly. “Our families have had a… combative history and I really don’t want to cause them more stress, at the moment.”

“We won’t bother him unless he bothers you today,” Harry said.

“Don’t rise up to him,” she warned. “That’s what he wants. If you ignore him, he’ll leave off.”

* * *

“Leave off,” Draco scowled as he stalked along the pathway leading up to the school gates.

It wasn’t even eight-thirty in the morning and he was already receiving mockery and commentary from the others. It was times like this when he much preferred to have Crabbe and Goyle’s brainless responses, making him feel like he’d done the right thing. As it happened, he was receiving Blaise’s laughter as he described some kind of tug-of-war farce between him and Granger over school positions. It was insulting and embarrassing.

“You know I’m only kidding?” Blaise grinned, jogging to keep up as Draco stalked ahead. “Technically, _your dad_ snatched the role from Granger’s hands. Do you think the Peasant saw it coming? Or perhaps she thought she actually had the authority to hold onto that role?”

Draco slowed, allowing himself to slow down a fraction. For some reason, whenever Blaise made a jab about his father, it always felt lighthearted and meaningless. He let himself forgive the other boy as they strolled along.

“Theo says she’s a nightmare to work with as Head Girl,” Blaise said, before raising his voice a fraction higher in mockery. “Tweak this and tweak that! No, Theo, you absolutely _cannot_ make a decision without consulting me, no matter _how small_.”

He chuckled as Blaise smirked, hands in his pockets. “She does sound like that.”

“You’ll still have to work with her,” Blaise shook his head. “At least she has to listen to you, though. I suppose that’s one plus.”

“I can’t imagine a world where Granger bosses me around,” Draco twisted his mouth, as if a bad taste had suddenly emerged. “I feel sorry for Theo.”

“Yeah, it’s not like he can tell her where to stick it,” Blaise said. “They’re on the same footing. I rather wish Pansy had been chosen as Head Girl, instead. The pair of them would make sure that Ordinaries would never achieve the top spots ever again. Get rid of all the reforms that old nutcase Dumbledore introduced after Headmaster Grindelwald retired.”

“Just because Granger received more votes than me, doesn’t mean I’m less qualified for the position,” Draco nodded, soaking in Blaise’s suggestions and words. “I actually think I’ll do a much better job than she would’ve. It’s just her Nerd Herd and people who dislike me tactically voting. When those results came through, nobody was thinking about who was better suited for the job.”

“I like to think I voted for you because I believed in you,” Blaise said pointedly.

“Fine,” Draco allowed himself to relent for the compliment. “But the rest of them are as dumb as they come.”

The two boys walked along a path that was almost obscured with fallen leaves. It was like nature was laying a red carpet for him upon his entrance towards class. Perhaps he was being a little egotistical, but he had to psychologically build himself up before he faced the music. He’d received so much shit from his father last night, a constant stream of demoralisation that had beaten him further and further down the line. He wanted to wear it like armour today, to prove to everyone and himself that dethroning Granger wasn’t a big deal.

As was permitted by routine, they met Pansy standing just before the front entrance, chewing on gum and drifting her fingers along her phone screen, dark hair pushed back out of her freckled face. She raised her head when Blaise whistled for attention, upturned features forming into a welcoming smile. She folded onto Draco’s other side, falling into step with the boys as they entered Hogwarts for the day. It felt better to have friends with him, since Draco was positive that Blaise and Pansy would always have his back. There would also be Crabbe and Goyle, but they were always late to registration and by then emotions would’ve been smoothed over. He would need some backup when he faced Granger, Specs and the Red Retard, as well as their whole entourage who had piled in their class. He hadn’t been raised to be a coward, so Draco threw open their form room door and sauntered in, summoning the Malfoy courage on his side as he headed to the back of the class and lounged in his chair, lifting his feet to rest on his desk.

It was only when he’d gotten comfortable that he noticed Granger, Pothead and Weaselly. The girl had a face like a smacked arse, pinched and proper as she tried to contain her anger. She had been a completely different story yesterday, raising her voice despite being of an inferior status. Her subdued rage was a lot less exciting, but he didn’t need Granger shouting him down in the middle of the classroom. As for Pothead, Draco could proudly say he was seething. He knew when Potter was mad, judging by the clenched jaw and the way his green eyes flashed with verdant anger, shielded beneath long lashes. Finally, the Weasley clown was gritting his teeth and showing visible contempt towards Draco. One provocation and he’d probably leap out of his seat to attack.

Draco decided to prod. “Seen something you like, Weasley?”

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Ron jumped to his feet and stalked over, but Blaise met him and stood face-to-face.

“Please, Ron,” Granger stood up and wandered over. “Don’t-”

“He’s a prick, Hermione,” Ron jabbed a finger past Blaise, straight towards Draco. “And he’s a spiteful little coward, too. Hiding behind his stupid prick of a father-”

Draco’s heart suddenly hammered in his chest. He whipped his feet off the desk and skirted past it, shouldering Blaise out of the way. Even though Draco stood taller than the Red Retard, Ron was far more muscular and well-built, presumably from farmwork his Peasant family partook in.

“Don’t talk about my father like that,” he scowled, refusing to back down and not wanting Blaise to stand in his way.

“Acting like you don’t shit on other people’s families all the time,” Ron neared him.

When Dumbledore asked him later, Draco said that Ron threw the first punch. Ron had stammered a counter, sputtering something that was an accusation on Draco’s character. He didn’t like to admit it, but Draco didn’t actually remember _who_ threw the first punch. Both he and Weaselly had two onlookers- Granger and Potter against Blaise and Pansy. No one else in the classroom had been watching or paying enough attention to see or process what exactly happened, so it essentially boiled down to his word against Ron’s, since neither of their friends could be believed. Seamus and Dean had little to say, other than Ron was more injured, whereas Crabbe and Goyle only had to point out the already blue blossoming mark on Draco’s face.

Of course, that was later. In the present, Draco found himself scuffling with Ron, both of them sporting red marks on their face and jaws from landed blows. It was Ron who gave him a staggering blow to the temple that had him falling back against his desk, but when Ron grabbed onto the lapels of his blazer, it was Draco who gave him a devastating uppercut that had Ron biting his tongue and spitting blood. When blood is visible in the fight, that’s when people step in. Seamus and Dean hurtled forwards to help in the fray, but Crabbe and Goyle arrived just in time, barring them and Ron from coming any closer. The other two boys had instead grabbed Ron and held him at bay, spitting and shouting furiously in Draco’s general direction. Draco had backed away, Pansy soothingly rubbing his arm as if that would make the pain in his face vanish.

A fight is a fight, though. It’s quite unusual in a private school and it’s only natural that people should panic. Longbottom had already raced off to the staff room and they were unfortunate that it was Mr Snape, dark eyes as cold and lifeless as obsidian, and frown already pulled taut as he grabbed the back of Draco and Weasley’s collars and dragged them to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office, barking for the other eight to follow, like a funeral procession, except Draco couldn’t believe he was being buried with a fucking Weasley. Mr Snape practically threw them through the door of Headmaster Dumbledore’s office, both boys stumbling forwards and fighting for their balance before the somewhat surprised eyes of the headmaster. It was a Friday morning; the old man had probably expected a little more respite from his students.

Dumbledore was an aged specimen, one who was “long past his prime”, as Draco had heard his father say on multiple occasions. There were times when Draco wanted to believe the old man had a kind and lively twinkle in his blue eyes, but if he really supported his father then he would shake it off as an early onslaught of confusion and dementia. The man must’ve been the oldest headmaster, having reached his eighty-fifth birthday back in August, and he didn’t show any signs of resigning any time soon. He had greatly reformed Hogwarts, introducing new customs and traditions to combat a stiff regime that had previously governed the students of Hogwarts underneath an iron fist. These, of course, polarised with his father’s beliefs, so Draco would hardly voice them out loud, but listening to what things were like during Headmaster Grindelwald’s office didn’t sound exactly pleasant. He _wanted_ to say that Headmaster Dumbledore was doddering and one foot in the grave, but the man was very much present and certainly had many more years of life left. Not only that, but the faculty had a lot of respect for him, whence the governors often found the need to band together to push their decisions to school law, such as Granger being ousted.

“Throwing fists before morning registration,” Snape’s lip curled in disdain as he regarded the two boys. “Eight onlookers and a different story from each. I say detention for the both of them.”

Draco kept his mouth shut in the presence of Snape. It was a bad idea to show fighting spirit before a man who demanded silence and respect. Weasel, on the other hand, had the brain cells of a gnat.

His finger was already trained towards Draco before common sense could tell him that talking was a bad idea. “Draco started this. He was the-”

Snape cuffed him irritably. “Headmaster Dumbledore doesn’t need garble excuses, Mr Weasley. He’s had enough… _palaver_ from your twin brothers, I should think.”

“Come now, Severus,” Headmaster Dumbledore laced his fingers together. “I rather think Mr Fred and George Weasley were a delight during their time in these halls.” He smiled at them beneath his half-moon spectacles. “However, I do have to agree that we do not condone violence at Hogwarts, and that I try to do my best to discourage fighting. Mr Weasley, perhaps a mint might soothe your mouth before the pair of you go to the medical wing. Mrs Pomfrey will delight in looking at you both, I’m sure.”

“Mr Dumbledore, with all due respect, I ain’t apologising to him,” Ron said and was dutifully thwacked by Snape once more.

“Don’t speak out of turn.”

“If I may ask, what brought on the sudden battle between the two of you?” Dumbledore glanced between the two boys.

“Weasley- _Ron_ , believes that I’ve stolen the position of Class President,” Draco raised his chin high. “Even though Granger conceded the role.”

“That’s bullshit and-”

“Mr Weasley, please,” Dumbledore pushed a small bowl towards them. “A sherbet lemon, perhaps. The sudden zest, I find, takes away a lot of sudden anger. I did wonder whether Miss Granger may have been a key part of this argument. Mr Weasley.” Ron sat up straighter. “I admire your courage for defending your friends. _However_ , knowing Miss Granger as much as I do, I can most assuredly say that she would not have wanted you to step-in on her behalf, and that she tenfold would not have wanted a violent outcome, given the situation.”

The Weasel at least had the dignity to hang his head.

“As for you, Mr Malfoy, I do rather think that Mr Weasley is unlikely to have behaved in such a manner unprovoked,” Draco opened his mouth to retort, but then thought better on it. The old man already had a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “Whilst the position of Class President is something to be proud of, it is best to remember that hubris is not an attractive character trait in the eyes of others. There is a lot to be said about what happened this morning, but it’s important to remember that you are now at the top of our school, the oldest and, therefore, the most responsible for your actions. It is crucial that you set a good example for those younger than you, the little ones who aspire to be like you when they are older.”

“And what about the other eight seated outside?” Snape looked keen for all of them to get in trouble.

The old man hummed, low and long, before he finally spoke up. “I rather think this ought not to become a murder investigation, Severus. I think I have a good idea as to what has happened, and when both parties have sustained injuries, it no longer matters who started what. The only one of these ‘onlookers’ that I would like to see is Miss Granger.”

“And these two?” Snape laid a hand of each of the boy’s shoulders. If Draco had liked Weasley, he might’ve exchanged a glance with him, but he didn’t.

“I would like Mr Malfoy to stay a little bit longer,” Dumbledore said. “As for Mr Weasley, I would like him to be checked by Mrs Pomfrey. A split lip suits no one. And do take a sherbet lemon. They truly are delicious.”

The redhead muttered an apology and thanks as he rose, taking one of the boiled sweets from the bowl, and side-stepped Snape as he left the room.

“Severus, I think it would be best to call Miss Granger in and have the rest return to their form room,” Dumbledore continued. “And please explain to Horace what has happened. He will be very confused that half of his form aren’t present, despite having left their bags behind.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Snape swept out of the room like a bat, the door clicking softly behind him.

“Sir, I’m not at fault for-”

“Mr Malfoy, I do not blame _you_ for what was petitioned for on Wednesday evening,” the headmaster replied. “I see a lot of good in you, no matter how misguided.”

He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. There was always a part of him that wanted to argue with the headmaster, but Dumbledore’s words always found him confused and wondering. Instead, he laid his hands in his lap and looked at his feet as the door was opened once more and light footsteps across the carpet drew nearer. The chair was dragged further away from his, which was when Draco looked to the other seat as Granger lowered herself down. She had probably never sat in the headmaster’s office other than for praise, so this new situation had brought red rings around her eyes, the threat of an onslaught of tears.

“Miss Granger, you are _not_ in trouble,” Dumbledore instantly noticed and pushed the bowl towards her. “Sherbet lemon. I cannot stress how perfect they are for situations that need a lot of thought. For all situations, actually.”

Granger hummed and took one sweet, fumbling at the wrapper nervously, before popping it into her mouth.

“I really ought to have addressed this sooner, rather than leave this solely to Horace,” Dumbledore adjusted his specs. “I’ve caused unnecessary harm. I cannot fix the situation, since there are a lot of hearts and emotions running, and an ultimate decision has been made by the Board, regardless of what the three of us may think.”

“The two of you,” now that Granger was in the room, Draco didn’t want to expose any weakness.

“Very well,” Dumbledore’s eyes flicked towards his desk, only briefly. “I think a lot needs to be said. Miss Granger, are you OK with stepping down as Class President?”

Draco turned wide eyes to the headmaster. Was he going to force them to discuss _feelings_?

Granger worked the sweet around her mouth. “I’m fine with it.”

A snort escaped Draco’s mouth before he could stop it. “You said a fine few other things yesterday.”

Dumbledore glanced between them. “May someone explain? It’s quite cold, outside the loop.”

“Fine,” Granger blew out a breath. “I wasn’t happy about it at all, but as Headmaster Dumbledore has kindly voiced, the Board have made their decision.”

“Don’t make it sound like an autocracy.”

“It’s hardly _fair_ , though,” Granger folded her arms, looking at neither Draco nor the headmaster. Her gaze was fixed to Dumbledore’s window. “I was demoted because I wasn’t ‘socially acceptable’.”

“And Mr Malfoy?”

He kept a cold exterior. “I deserve this position. The Board are correct.”

Granger blew out a harsh breath. Dumbledore fixed Draco with a long, blue stare. He was so tempted to crumble under pressure, but he knew his father would be furious if he revealed anything close to the truth. He kept his mouth shut and sat through the awkward silence.

“I understand,” the old man said. “You two are Class President and Vice President, the voice of reason and decision makers of your form. It is mandatory that you work together cohesively, but I fear there is a lot of bad blood swirling between you two. It doesn’t make for a comfortable work environment.”

“So, Granger should quit altogether,” Draco announced. “I would work better with Potter anyway.”

There was a slight shadow of doubt in his mind, a memory of Seamus spreading a rumour that he and Potter were… well, _together_. His jaw tightened at the very thought.

“I’m not quitting,” Granger said politely. “But I’m sure the Board would understand if you resigned due to the pressure.”

“Not happening,” he gave her a sickly-sweet smile.

“You are _both_ suitable to both positions,” Dumbledore interjected. “And I want this to work for all of us. I propose that you share a lot of the loads and handle this as equals. A title is a title. To really function, you two must support each other and I have full faith in both of you. _Try_ , before you doubt. For the sake of everyone.”

“Yes, Sir,” Granger looked down. “I’ll do my best.”

The headmaster turned to look at him and Draco rolled his shoulders back. “Fine. I’ll do all I can.”

* * *

The two students left the office. Hermione didn’t want to look at Malfoy, but she had to glance at the handful of sherbet lemons he’d nervously grabbed on their way out, much to the insistence of Headmaster Dumbledore. She wanted to fire off at him, but she had _just_ agreed to keep the peace. Hermione wasn’t about to start breaking Dumbledore’s trust within minutes of leaving his office.

“Here’s the deal,” she said and Draco finally looked at her, half of his face smudged with an ocean blue bruise. “I’ll tell Ron to back off, that you and I have agreed to a truce. But you have to compromise, too. Stop prodding him.”

“He’s too dumb not to,” Malfoy muttered.

“Malfoy, we have to work together,” she said sternly.

“I didn’t ask for this, Granger, but here we are,” he crammed his hands into his pockets.

“Funny that you think _I_ asked for it,” she replied drily. “Tell me you won’t make jabs at Ron.”

“He punches lighter than you do,” Draco said sheepishly.

In the past, she might’ve chuckled. There was a time when smirks and banter that slightly got on her nerves had passed between them. Now, however, she could only think of their bitter conversation yesterday.

Draco inhaled sharply at her silence. “I won’t provoke Weasley.”

“And I will put the Board’s decision aside,” Hermione let herself release her breath. “When Mr Slughorn announces us to the class in afternoon registration, I won’t kick up a fuss. I’ll never comment on this again.”

“Fine,” Malfoy said. “But only because peace is easier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: https://twitter.com/XOs_writing  
> Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/the-xs-and-the-os


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